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"And now to dispose of our dead. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. Spurling, drily. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. " Almost the identical words of the boy. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. Wiped out, but for these.
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